


A Scouting Trip to School

by rei_c



Series: Stiles Stilinski: Vongola Sky [12]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, First Meetings, Gen, Original Character(s), Sky Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 16:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17922020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: Everyone's invested in Stiles harmonising with a sun so he's determined not to, just to spite them. Of course, nothing goes to plan.





	A Scouting Trip to School

**Author's Note:**

> The first original character of the series -- I hope you like her!

Stiles is reading through one of his grandmother's journals in the library when a sudden thrum along his bond with Peter distracts him. He sits up in his chair, stretches to loosen his back, and lets out a sigh of relief as his shoulders pop. He hadn't realised he'd been sitting in the same position for so long but when he checks his watch -- a Swiss monstrosity gifted to him by Xanxus that no doubt has three different trackers in it -- Stiles sees that he's been hunched over Daniela's journals for a little over two hours.

"Huh," he says, the noise echoing in the room. Stiles closes the journal, stacks it on top of half a dozen others and a couple translation dictionaries, and stands, then, turning to lean against the table. He fixes his eyes on the door and only has to wait a handful of seconds before it opens.

One of the house staff peers around the corner, eyes widening in surprise when she sees that Stiles is already waiting for her to speak. "Oh," she says, "I -- sorry, Decimo, it's just that -- I mean, you have a guest. A visitor. A -- someone is here to see you."

Stiles' mouth quirks upwards. "Thanks," he says. "I'll head to my rooms."

"How did you know that they -- I mean, yes, Decimo, of course," she says, about to ask a question but stopping herself just in time. "Do you want me to send up refreshments?"

Stiles judges the way his bond with Peter is vibrating, shakes his head. "No," he tells her. "I don't think it'll be necessary. But thank you."

She nods, drops into a little curtsey and then flushes at her own action, fleeing back to whatever she'd been doing before. Stiles chuckles as he leaves the library. 

\--

Peter's amused and Erica's laughing, Stiles feels that through the bonds, but he also gets a sense of Verde's curiosity taking hold, so Stiles isn't sure what to expect. When he walks into his suite, he sees Erica and Peter sharing a couch, Verde curled up in one of the armchairs, and Lussuria in the middle, lying on the coffee table, limbs akimbo. 

"Decimo," Lussuria says, though Xanxus' sun doesn't make any move to get up. "Greetings from the Varia. I'm taking you on a field trip today." 

Erica cheers and Stiles blinks in surprise. "Field trip?" he asks. He looks to Peter, first, then Verde; Peter's grinning but Verde's frowning, head tilted to one side with narrowed eyes pinned on Lussuria. Stiles takes a step towards Verde, asks, softly, "What is it?" 

Verde's eyes slide to Stiles' and the lightning shakes his head once. "If I said 'nothing,' would you let it go?" 

"Do you want me to?" Stiles asks. 

"For now," Verde says, after a moment's consideration. 

Stiles nods, then, and says, "Then I'll let it go. But you'll tell me if you change your mind." He waits for Verde's nod of agreement, then turns his attention back to Lussuria, who's sitting up, watching Stiles with fascination. "Where are we going?" Stiles asks. 

Lussuria's grin goes distinctly shark-like. "The Academy." 

\--

Thanks to the number of Varia and Vongola bodyguards insisting on going along, they split up into three separate SUVs for the drive. Erica sits in the first with four of the Varia on this fortnight's rotation and Peter's riding in the third with three Vongola security staff and one more Varia. Stiles, in the middle vehicle, sits in the back seat, Verde on one side and Lussuria on the other, the driver and passenger both Vongola bodyguards and both making a show of not being interested in the conversation behind them -- not that there's much talking. Verde seems content to watch out the windows and Stiles is focused on his bonds -- the one to Verde, carrying a tinge of hesitation, draws most of his attention. He sends reassurance down the bond, holds Verde's gaze when Verde turns to look at him, lets Verde study him. 

"Children," Verde finally says, looking out of the window again. 

Stiles laughs, says, "I'm a child, according to most popular convention." Verde hums but doesn't say anything, so Stiles adds, softly, "It's yours, too. Okay? If you aren't content, it won't happen." 

A line of tension dissolves from Verde's shoulders as the Arcobaleno nods, once, sharp.

Lussuria, on Stiles' other side, makes an understanding noise, drums his fingers on his thigh. "A clash of personalities, I suppose," he says. "It's going to take someone special to be your sun." 

"And if we find a rain instead?" Stiles asks. "Or a storm?" 

"Then your cousins and your uncle will be just as satisfied," Lussuria says. "But after what you did to Peter? A sun would be best." 

Stiles smiles, the expression baring his teeth as he turns to look as Lussuria. "'Best' is subjective. Don't push it, Luss. Xanxus would be furious if I hurt you but I have a mist who'd love to test his illusions on someone they'd actually affect." 

Lussuria, to his credit, doesn't look at all fazed by the threat, merely shrugs it off and asks, brightly, "So. Decimo. What're your qualifications for a sun guardian?" 

"Alive," Stiles replies, tone dry, a little mocking. "Now shut up." 

\--

The drive takes them off of Vongola territory -- the Academy educates all the heirs and promising subordinates of the magical mafia and, as such, is on its own, neutral territory, protected by all but ruled by none. As far as Stiles knows, no one from the main Vongola famiglia has been enrolled since Massimo, though several of their allied families have sons and daughters and sworn followers at the school. He can see why, when they finally arrive. It's a beautiful place, the campus spread out and sprawling, with single-story buildings and orange trees dotting the land. The feeling of it, though, is much more intense -- perhaps that's why they designed the grounds to be so calming. Stiles gets slammed with an instant headache the moment he steps foot on the earth, his sky battered every which way by foreign elements in every kind of mood, at every level of strength. There is one that calls to him, though: a tantalising, tempting siren song of flame that reaches out to Stiles' sky and _begs_. 

Stiles starts walking, following the call of that flame, has just enough presence of mind to make sure that Verde's on his right and Peter's on his left, that Erica's with them and Lussuria's keeping up, as he strides across a quad and into a building, bypassing the people trying to hold him back, to stop him, to question him. When one of the school's security guards doesn't get out of his way in time, Stiles lifts a hand and sends whips of flame out to coil around the guard and pull him to the side; the flames leave welts on the man's arms and neck. There's muttering behind him, faces appearing in classroom windows and people coming to the doors, but Stiles ignores them all. 

He ends up in front of the door to a girls' locker room and pauses, eyes narrowing. "Tell them to come out," he says, and barely has the patience to watch and wait as Erica goes inside. 

Peter leans close, murmurs, "What are we taking home with us, alpha?" 

"Someone who belongs to _me_ ," Stiles replies, as girls start to come out of the locker room one-by-one. "Can you feel them?" 

"I can," Verde says, at the same time that Peter nods. "Sun. Though they feel -- young." 

Verde sounds cooly dismissive and, when Stiles looks over, has his lips curled. Stiles feels protective rage flare up inside of him but bites it back and simply says, "Young means _we_ get to train them -- her."

Train -- or, rather, mould, raise the way they want, the way _they_ see fit. Even Verde loses his disgust and seems intrigued by the idea. 

Finally, with the hall around them filled with people, both students and teachers, Erica comes out of the locker room. "That's everyone," she says. "Who was the --" 

Stiles cuts her off by walking past her, going into the locker room. One of the teachers -- he thinks they're a teacher, anyway -- calls out to stop him but Stiles sees Vongola and Varia bodyguards moving to shut whoever that was up out of the corner of his eye, so he doesn't stop. 

It's quiet inside, smells of powder and deodorant, a hint of sweat and perfume and gun oil. Stiles stands in the middle, folds his arms across his chest, and looks up. He meets a girl's eyes, her face barely visible around the edge of one slightly misplaced ceiling tile. 

"Down," Stiles says, then tilts his head, asks, " _Can_ you get down?" 

The girl huffs, pushes the tile out of the way, and says, "I can get down. Can you get up?" 

Stiles' eyes turn orange as he grins and she gapes, eyes going wide. He steps onto the bench, then reaches up, makes sure the ceiling grid's going to hold him before he hoists himself up and sits on a metal bar, lets his feet dangle. Now that he's up closer, he takes her in: small, with wide brown eyes and shoulder-length brown hair, vestiges of baby fat clinging to her cheeks. She has a strong jaw, though, and her fingers are long, thin, where they're twisting the hem of her skirt. 

"Are you -- I'm sorry," she says, swallowing hard. "I don't recognise you." 

"Mieczysław Stilinski," Stiles says. "Sky. Who are you?" 

For a moment, Stiles thinks she's going to curl into herself, but then she straightens, squares her shoulders, lifts her chin. It reminds Stiles of Allison; his chest aches at the memory. The girl reaches out as if she can feel his pain, lays her fingers on Stiles' wrist, and the flood of sun through his bones and muscles and down into his soul nearly sends him out of the ceiling space and down onto the floor. 

She pulls back quick, wincing, though when she looks at Stiles, her eyes are a soft golden colour that nearly takes his breath away. "Sorry," she says. "My name's Hebe. Hebe Cìnniri. Can I ask -- how did you find me? Why were you even looking for me?" 

"I'm on the hunt for guardians," Stiles says, bluntly, still staring at her as his mind puzzles through the riddle of her name. "As soon as I stepped foot onto school grounds, I felt you screaming for me. You're mine, Hebe Cìnniri -- if you want me." 

"Yes," she says, instantly. "I don't -- I don't know what it means, what you mean it to mean, but I -- yes." 

This time, when her flame calls, Stiles' sky answers it. The harmonisation is quick for as deep as it goes, and thorough, her flames' desperation meeting the possessiveness of Stiles' sky. This time she's the one who sways and Stiles is the one to reach out, to surround them both with the comforting heat and light of his flame. 

"Hebe, the goddess whose cup created the rowan tree," Stiles says, mind finally clicking on just why her name stuck out so strongly. "And Cìnniri. Ash. Your family, they're hunters." 

"And when my parents told me that, I nearly killed them," Hebe says. "Ran away, couldn't figure out why I would go to sleep hungry and bruised every night and wake up healed and good as new the next morning. One of the Cavallone men found me, told me I had a flame, took me to their head and, after I swore loyalty, they sent me here." 

Stiles doesn't let his thoughts onto his face, simply asks, "How long ago?" 

"Six months," Hebe says. "If you make me kill any 'wolves, I -- bonding with you feels like -- but I'll kill you, I swear I will, I'll find a way, you won't make me --" 

"I have three other guardians," Stiles says, cutting her off. "Two of them are 'wolves. One of them was nearly killed by hunters; saving her is how my flame activated and I've sworn to see that family dead. You'll find no love for hunters in my famiglia."

She searches his eyes, his face, for a lie. When she finds nothing but truth, she shimmies around the opening, throws her arms around Stiles and buries her face in his neck. "Mine?" she asks. "Family?" 

Stiles holds her tight, says, "Forever." 

\--

They eventually get down; Hebe jumps and lands on her feet, catlike, and Stiles lowers himself carefully, doesn't bother fixing the ceiling tile back into place. When he's standing up straight, Hebe wraps her arms around him again and sinks into his hold with a pleased sigh. She's even tinier than he thought, the top of her head barely to his collarbone. 

"How old are you?" he asks, running his fingers through her hair. 

"Twelve," she says. Stiles lets out a deep breath, takes that in and then lets it go. Age is nothing but a number, after all, and with all she's lived through, she's no doubt more mature now at twelve than, say, Scott ever will be. "Can I meet the others? Your 'wolves?" 

The locker room door swings open and Erica peeks her head around, then comes in, cooing. She pulls Hebe into her arms, starts scenting her, and Hebe -- just gives into it, curls into it like she'll never be able to get enough of such open affection. 

Peter's the next to enter, followed by Verde, and the two come to stand on either side of Stiles. From the other side of the door, Stiles hears Lussuria yell, "I'll just wait out here, then, shall I?" 

"Hebe Cìnniri," Stiles says. He feels the tension in Peter's flames so he reaches out, puts a hand on Peter's arm, grips tight enough to ground Peter but not enough to leave bruises. "I know you were listening. You heard her, Peter: she ran away and swore she'd find a way to kill me if I asked her to use her flame against any 'wolves." Peter eases enough that Stiles feels comfortable letting go after a little squeeze. He looks at Verde, then, and tells his lightning, "She's twelve. Six months active, a ward of the Cavallone family but all she's learned has come from instinct and then this place." 

Verde considers that and, when Hebe finally tears herself away from Erica, tells the girl, "I am Verde. Lightning. And I am not a kind man." 

"I have a feeling I'll get that from these two," and Hebe gestures at Erica and Stiles. "Just don't lie to me." 

"I have no patience for falsehood," Verde says. He looks Hebe over, finally nods. "You'll do, I suppose. We'll teach you. Will you learn?" 

Hebe grins, wide and brilliant and -- she looks so much like Allison might have, at this age, but there's a hard-won strength inside of her that Allison didn't learn until after Victoria killed herself, a strength that Hebe turned towards protection and devotion where Allison's twisted into the deep rot of a mindless vengeance. 

Stiles wonders how long it's going to take before his new sun doesn't remind him of a girl he killed without even a second thought. 

"I'll learn," Hebe promises. "I'll learn everything, I want to know everything." 

"Sounds like you," Erica says, looking at Stiles with a soft, affectionate look on her face. Stiles wonders if she sees anything of Allison in Hebe, if Peter does, if any of the pack or their friends in Beacon Hills will when they eventually go home. 

Peter crouches down, then, reaches out and draws the backs of his fingers down Hebe's cheek. "Peter. I'm a mist. And you, little one, are such an interesting find. Then again, Stiles gets bored easily. He needs interesting people in his life to keep him entertained." 

Hebe frowns a little, shakes her head -- not at Peter's actions but at his words. "Who's Stiles?" she asks. 

"I am," Stiles says. "A nickname. It's easier." 

"I don't like easier," Hebe says. 

Peter laughs, Erica does as well, and Verde looks satisfied. 

"Come on, Hebe," and Stiles holds out his hand. Hebe takes it immediately, squeezes tight. "Let's take you home."


End file.
